


Finding Comfort In The Enemy

by FaunaProductions



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Webber, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: M/M, also theres grief and nightmares, christine is dead and everyone is trying to cope, i claimed this is slowburn but we'll see how slow i can actually write it, post-LND, raoul is broke and erik wants to be better for gustave, so now theyre living together, some fun stuff!, theres also some description of a dead chris in there but its not graphic so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25799380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaunaProductions/pseuds/FaunaProductions
Summary: After the events of Love Never Dies, Raoul and Erik are forced to cope with the death of the woman they both loved, while also caring for her son together.While they started out as enemies, perhaps their feelings will take a different turn—one neither of them expected.-Honestly, the title is a work in progress itself, but I didn't want to call this "Phantom of the Opera 3: Two Men and a Baby." or, alternatively, "It Takes A Circus To Raise A Child."
Relationships: Raoul de Chagny/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 26
Kudos: 83





	1. A Hesitant Partnership

The days seemed to drag on.

Every time Raoul closed his eyes, he saw her there—breast still, skin cold, body limp.

He had to be pulled from her, even as he screamed out her name.

Her name.

He couldn't speak it any longer for fear of his throat closing and a new flood of tears falling from his eyes.

That man, the one who had stolen her in the first place, he must have pitied him greatly.

Raoul was allowed to live within the man's residence, a home which would have been humble for a family of six, but was instead quite overbearing with a single man living there—one who spent many nights in his office instead, the house sitting empty most of the time.

Gustave made an effort to get the two men to speak, or at least, stand in the same room without acting as though they might, at any moment, go for each other's throats.

The boy, Raoul noticed, was not as cheerful. He didn't sing any longer, and even though he had access to the grand piano in the parlor, he never so much as touched the keys.

He spent long hours staring out the window as the carnival's lights danced across the view but never once asked to play any of the games or ride any of the attractions.

At night, he would sneak from his own bedroom into Raoul's, crawling into bed with him.

Sometimes he would cry, and his father would comfort him.

Sometimes he would be silent, tucking himself into his father's arms.

Sometimes he would scream as a nightmare ripped him from his sleep and he would be inconsolable for hours.

It was that last one Raoul hated most. He could hold him, or comfort him, or speak softly to him, but he would never be used to hearing his darling boy scream with such fear and grief.

It was the morning after one such very sleepless night when Mr. Y chose to grace Monsieur le Vicomte with his presence at the breakfast table.

The masked man always had food waiting for Raoul and Gustave, but he never ate with them—in fact, they rarely saw him at all after that night on the pier, save for the funeral nearly six months before and the twice a week he would step in very briefly to check on their needs; it was within those few minutes each time that Gustave had to ease the tension, in case they decided to deal with their grief by using violence.

"No need to be alarmed," he assured Raoul, who was immediately on guard upon seeing him at the table. "I merely thought I might look in to see about how you are doing."

Raoul slowly settled into a seat across from him. "I didn't know phantoms ate," he said, glancing at his plate of food.

"Ah, you've a sense of humor," he replied with an approving nod. "That's very good."

Gustave was sleeping in, having only managed to settle down an hour or so before dawn arrived, but so far he was not needed to keep the peace.

After several minutes of silence, Raoul looked up from his food, his gaze settling on the masked man. "Monsieur Y-"

"Erik," he corrected him, a casual way to his words though his shoulders looked tense. "My name is Erik."

Raoul nodded slowly. "Erik," he repeated, clearing his throat, "I only wonder… why do you not send me away?"

"Gustave would never understand," he answered, cutting another bite from his crepe. "Nor would he forgive me."

"It is for his sake then?" Raoul asked with a short hum.

Erik was silent.

"I don't think of you as a man with a heart," Raoul continued, leaning forward in his seat. "However, I have seen you in a different light."

"Yes, I would never harm a hair on Gustave's head," Erik said, his eyebrow raised in intrigue. "I don't know why you are telling me this."

"I don't mean with Gustave," he said, frowning. "Or, rather, not only with him… I have seen this side of you before with-"

He broke off suddenly but both men knew exactly where he had been going with it. Her name which hadn't even been spoken still seemed to hang in the air.

Erik spoke up first, "When I had her in my lair, and you, her noble knight, came to her rescue."

Raoul nodded. "The way you sent us to your boat, that we might avoid the eyes of the mob," he said softly, his food forgotten as he stared past Erik. "I hadn't thought of you as a man before that moment, more a monster—but you could have kept her, or killed me, or any number of things, and you chose to give us freedom and safety."

Erik was once again silent, so Raoul did not push his point.

Sometime after they had finished eating—or, in reality, abandoned their food on the table to relocate to the parlor with tea but no conversation—Gustave finally awoke, stalking down the stairs.

"Father?" he called, rubbing the sleep from his eye.

"In the sitting room," Raoul answered, putting his teacup on the small table.

Gustave rounded the corner and stopped, blinking in confusion. "Monsieur," he greeted Erik before moving to sit beside Raoul.

She had told him about his parentage before she died though he still hadn't adjusted to the idea of anyone but the man who raised him being his father.

As such, he referred to Erik only as "Monsieur Y" or other honorifics one might use for a stranger or a man with whom one is not well acquainted.

"How are you feeling?" Raoul asked softly as Gustave took a cookie from the small plate.

He replied with nothing but a noncommittal shrug.

After a moment, Erik looked at Raoul, "You are finding the house to your liking, are you not?"

"It is fine, Monsieur," he answered, "Although, I must wonder why a man such as you would find yourself in need of such a large home."

Gustave quickly swallowed his mouthful of cookie to speak up, in a very matter-of-fact tone, "Dr. Gangle told me that Monsieur Y would offer the rooms as a free place to stay for performers that had less than ideal situations."

"Ah, yes," Erik admitted, "Well, it has been quite some time, the performers and stagehands have living quarters elsewhere nowadays."

Gustave grinned before taking another cookie from the plate.

Raoul, on the other hand, was staring at Erik—he saw the man in a new way when he was not so focused on beating him in a competition which no longer mattered.

He briefly recalled a conversation with Madame Giry, years before. Something about how the deformed man in the circus had been kept in a cage, on display to be gawked at and earn horrified gasps from patrons.

Perhaps he felt that no human oddity should ever find themselves in need of a proper roof over their heads.

Erik stood, which broke Raoul from his reverie.

"Are you in need of anything, Monsieur?" Erik asked, strolling over to grab his coat from the hook.

"No, we've everything we have a want for," Raoul answered.

"I shall take my leave then," he said with a nod, adjusting his long coat. "Good day, sir."

Raoul stood, not entirely realizing what he was doing until he had already spoken, "I wonder if you might dine with us tonight?"

Erik paused on his way out the door, watching Raoul with confusion and no small amount of suspicion. "Pardon me, Monsieur, I'm unsure if I heard you correctly."

"Dine with us, if you'd like," Raoul repeated the request, sparing Gustave a quick glance before he added, "It is his birthday, Monsieur."

He considered for a moment before nodding. "What flavor does the young Vicomte prefer for his cake?"

"Mother always made chocolate," Gustave answered before his grin quickly faltered, his appetite for cookies apparently vanishing.

The statement seemed to linger a moment longer than necessary.

"Then chocolate it shall be," Erik said finally. "I bid you adieu."

He bowed before disappearing through the door.

"It will be different without her," Gustave said softly as Raoul sat back down. "It will just be kept to us, right?" He frowned, leaning against his father. "I don't want a party, and I don't want anyone in attendance aside from us and Monsieur Y."

"Of course, my darling boy," Raoul said softly, wrapping his arms around him. "A small affair, with cake, presents, and good company."

"Will Monsieur Y be good company?" Gustave asked suspiciously, looking up at his father. "I don't want you to fight."

"No, we will get along," Raoul assured him, chuckling. "If only for your sake, Gustave."

He smiled slightly, nodding as he leaned against his father's chest once more.

He may not have believed his father's words, but he knew the Vicomte would make an effort nonetheless.

He would simply have to wait and see if he would be able to keep his promise.


	2. Birthday Presents and Gossiping Americans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raoul goes to get presents, Dr. Gangle turns out to be good company, and Americans are Americans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big thanks to andromedastars for being my beta reader! always good to have a second set of eyes to look for mistakes!

Raoul left the house for the first time in months, seeking out somewhere in which he might find a suitable present for a boy of eleven years.

"Sir, might you like an escort in the city?"

The voice made Raoul jump as he turned to look at the tall man. "Why, Dr. Gangle?" he asked, astonishment clear in his voice and on his face, and the man smiled as he nodded. "Pardon me, Monsieur, I did not recognize you without your usual painted face."

"Oh, I know, sir," he said, and though his face was not caked in makeup, it was easy to tell now with his recognizable warm, kind smile on his lips. "I do choose to have a clean face when I journey beyond Phantasma's gates."

"You're going into the city?" Raoul asked, and resumed walking as Dr. Gangle continued forward.

"Yes, sir, just a few errands," he confirmed, tucking his arms behind his back. "Are you looking for something in particular, sir?"

"I need to buy something for my son," Raoul told him, pursing his lips. "Unfortunately, I do not know what that 'something' might be."

"I know a few toy shops around," Dr. Gangle said cheerfully.

Raoul chuckled, nodding. "Thank you, sir, perhaps you might help me pick something out as well."

Dr. Gangle led him to a carriage—a proper one, with horses to pull and reins attached to bits.

Raoul was more than a little bit relieved to see they wouldn’t be traveling in the automated carriage Erik had built and sent to retrieve his family when they had first arrived in America.

Dr. Gangle offered a helping hand into the carriage which Raoul accepted.

"I'm in need of several yards of fabrics and gallons of paint," Dr. Gangle told him as he took the reins. "I can pick them up later in the afternoon so that we might pick something appropriate and fun for your boy."

After traveling for several minutes in silence, with the exception of hooves on the ground and occasional commands called to the horses, Raoul spoke up, "I did not know you went anywhere without Monsieur Squelch and Mademoiselle Fleck."

"Ah, not often, sir," Dr. Gangle answered with a laugh, "They're my best friends, after all, I couldn't imagine life without them so I make sure I spend as much time as I possibly can in their wonderful company."

"If only I had someone I felt as strongly about," Raoul lamented softly, "Alas, I do believe I will not find another after…"

Dr. Gangle frowned as Raoul trailed off.

He was silent for a few moments before clearing his throat. "Surely, sir, that might be your son?" he asked, a half-smile on his face. "He needs you now more than ever, if I might be allowed to say so, and I rather think he would spend every moment he can with you."

"I try," Raoul said, pursing his lips. "I just fear that your Monsieur Y will see fit to try and separate us."

Dr. Gangle's silence spoke volumes about what he knew. After all, why ask a question you know the answer to?

"If he speaks out of turn, sir, he is merely grieving," he said instead, glancing over at the Vicomte. "He is very bad at dealing with his emotions, sometimes he simply takes them out on others."

Raoul said nothing but nodded slowly.

After traveling another few city blocks, Dr. Gangle stopped the carriage on the curb.

"Well, sir, perhaps we can find something in here," he gestured to the toy store with a dramatic flair seen only in performances on the stage.

As the duo perused the shelves, a curly-haired girl of about twelve years tugged on Dr. Gangle's sleeve and he immediately kneeled to address her, "How are you, ma'am?"

"Are you Dr. Gangle?" she asked, her blue eyes wide.

He chuckled. "Why, yes, I am!" He put a finger to his lips with a wink. "But careful, I'm in disguise at the moment, otherwise I might be accosted by millions wanting my autograph!"

"I was in Phantasma last week," the girl said, now using a childlike whisper which was really not a whisper at all. "You were incredible!"

"Thank you, my dear!" he grinned, bowing his head. "I do exist to entertain! Tell me, what is your name?"

"Kirstie," she answered, holding out her hand.

He laughed as he shook it. "Very nice to meet you, Miss Kirstie!"

A woman, presumably her mother, hurried over, taking hold of the girl's shoulders. "Oh, I'm so sorry, is she bothering you?"

"Not at all, Madame!" Dr. Gangle answered, standing up. "I hope you enjoyed the show as well."

She nodded, smiling. "Yes, it was wonderful," she answered, before looking down at Kirstie. "We must go now, tell Dr. Gangle goodbye and thank him for his time."

"Goodbye, sir!" she said with a curtsey, "Thank you!"

"Thank you, my dears," he said, waving as they left the shop.

He turned to Raoul who was looking exceptionally pale and his smile dropped immediately. "Sir, are you feeling quite alright?"

"Yes, sorry," Raoul answered, clearing his throat. "She just…"

He wanted to say she looked nearly the same as his beautiful wife had, the first time they met—by the water, with her hair tied back and her dress fluttering around her with the breeze while his shirt was soaked through, the red scarf clutched tightly in his hand as he called out to get her attention. She had giggled when he returned the scarf and thanked him for rescuing it.

Then he'd gotten a scolding from his sister for being reckless.

He'd always felt it was worth it.

"Does that happen quite often?" Raoul asked instead, turning to look at a shelf of items to try to stop Dr. Gangle from seeing the tears welling in his eyes.

He did notice, of course, but he was a kind man who did not wish to push the subject.

"Quite a lot," he answered, picking up a porcelain doll painted to have a clown's face. "Mostly with children, they seem to see with a clearer eye than adults."

"Now that is something I can wholeheartedly believe," Raoul said, eyebrows raised as he walked past toy after toy to no avail.

Two women standing not even ten feet away spoke in hushed voices, occasionally glancing at Raoul.

He tried his best to ignore them, but one woman whispered, "He's that viscount from France! The one whose wife was murdered!"

"Oh, I see it now," the other woman replied, "He looks older now than he did in the papers."

"Her death must have really taken a toll," the first woman agreed, nodding with a pitying glance towards the Vicomte.

The other woman hummed in agreement, pausing only a moment before she spoke up again, "He's still very handsome though,  _ and _ he's a widower now…"

Raoul turned and strolled back over to Dr. Gangle, a tight-lipped smile on his face. "Perhaps we should move on, Monsieur, I am not finding anything that might be to Gustave's liking."

They tried several more shops, failing in what they set out to do. Despite the many options, there was simply nothing suited to Gustave.

There were other incidents of Raoul being gossiped about while standing barely two yards away, and he received many sympathetic glances from passersby.

He heard one man say it had been a performer who had shot the French soprano over a case of a cheating lover who cared more for the new leading lady than the old—and Raoul almost wanted to laugh at how very close that was to the truth, but it hurt him more than it amused him.

A more suspicious individual muttered that he believed the Vicomte murdered her because he found out that her son was not his—that, too, was too close to the truth for Raoul to feel anything but grief and no small amount of anger at being indirectly accused.

He found Dr. Gangle quickly after that comment and left, attempting to push the thought out of his mind.

At one point, the Master of Ceremonies had to step into a bookstore to pick something up for one of the other carnival performers—a thick Russian novel which was easily more than a thousand pages, and a newly published collection of stories from an English writer—and Raoul followed him in to stave off the boredom of waiting in the carriage and to look around for anything that might be of interest.

Raoul, to his amazement, found a few books that might be an intriguing read for Gustave—though perhaps slightly hindered by the language they had been written in being English rather than French.

After paying for the four novels, and the two books Dr. Gangle had been sent to retrieve, the duo continued on to finish the rest of Dr. Gangle's errands before returning to Phantasma.

"Thank you for your help," Dr. Gangle said as Raoul put the last two spools of fabric on the table.

"It was nice to be out and about again," he said, smiling. "Even though I am not quite used to how the people here handle seeing nobility in public."

"Ah, yes, we Americans can be…" Dr. Gangle paused. "Difficult." He shook his head. "I apologize on their behalf if they made you feel uncomfortable."

"It is not up to you to manage their behavior, sir, but you are one of the good ones," Raoul chuckled, shaking his head. "I must take my leave now, I'm afraid. Gustave will be expecting me back soon."

"Au revoir," Dr. Gangle said with a bow.


	3. A Birthday In Trying Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gustave almost has a proper birthday—except for the part where Raoul and Erik forget to get along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again big thanks to andromedastars for being my beta reader! <3

Raoul walked back to the house, moving between performers, patrons, and stagehands.

More than once he caught himself staring too long at someone with a bush of curly brown hair, or a dress like what  _ she _ might have worn once, or any number of much smaller details that he would rather be forgotten so that he might stop being distracted by them.

Finally, he reached the house, books individually wrapped in some paper, and tucked under his arm.

"Ah, Monsieur," Erik greeted him when he entered, "I was just about to send someone to find you, I was worried you had lost your way."

"Dr. Gangle was kind enough to escort me," Raoul said, perhaps more hostile than intended as he put his coat and hat on the hook. He softened his tone before adding, "It took some time to find a proper gift for Gustave."

"He is in the parlor," Erik said, folding his hands in front of himself. "I've a cake in the kitchen, I will bring it out when you see fit."

Raoul stared at him for a moment before nodding. "Thank you."

"Father!" Gustave exclaimed when he entered. "Monsieur Y has been showing me how a clock works!"

Raoul took in the sight ahead of him—gears and springs haphazardly spread along the table, several tools, the shell of the clock sitting off to the side, emptied of its contents, and, most importantly, his son grinning at him.

"Well, I'm glad you two found things to do while I was out," he said, though he felt a twinge of jealousy as he sat beside Gustave. "Now, I've brought presents!"

The boy excitedly moved clock pieces out of the way so Raoul could put the stack down on the table.

Gustave examined each one before tearing the paper off, his grin getting wider with every uncovered book.

"Oh, Father, they're perfect!" Gustave said, hugging him. "I can't wait to read them with Maman!"

He realized what he'd said a moment too late, grin dropping as he released Raoul and sat back.

Raoul and Erik exchanged glances, each seeing their own pain reflected in the other's eyes.

"Sometimes I-I forget…" Gustave muttered, absentmindedly picking up a spring from the table and twirling it in his hands. "I'm sorry."

"Nonsense, my boy," Erik replied, offering him a tight-lipped smile. "Think of how she would feel if we only sat around feeling sad, hm?"

" _ Erik _ ," Raoul warned softly.

"She was a beautiful soul, full of empathy and compassion," Erik added, his gaze settling on the Vicomte. "She wouldn't want us to sulk, would she?"

"Erik!" Raoul snapped, "Stop whatever it is you're trying to do!"

Erik blinked, stepping back in surprise. "Monsieur," he said, the word dripping with confusion, rather than the venom Raoul had expected. "I am not attempting to be malicious, I am merely saying what she would wa-"

"How would  _ you _ know what she would want for us?" Raoul asked, hands curling into fists in his lap. "If you feel the need to take over everything else in our lives, must you control our grief as well?"

Gustave stood abruptly, dropping the spring on the table. "Excuse me."

"Gustave!" Raoul stood as he called after him. He turned to Erik, his frown bordering on a scowl. "Look at what you've done now, you masked menace."

Erik looked like he'd been punched in the stomach. "Please, I didn't mean…" he swallowed thickly, "I was only-"

"Nevermind," Raoul shoved past him, ignoring the other man calling his name as he went up the stairs.

He gently knocked on Gustave's bedroom door before letting himself in. "Gustave?"

The boy was laying on his bed, turned away from him, hugging a picture frame close to his chest—Raoul knew it held a family portrait they'd had done several years earlier which Gustave liked to carry with him wherever they traveled.

"Monsieur Y should practice thinking before voicing his every notion," Raoul said, pulling a chair from the desk to beside the bed and taking a seat there. "It is like the man has no filter on that mouth of his to sift out the things he should not say."

"You were not helping," Gustave mumbled, sniffling. "Leave me alone."

Raoul's heart ached. "I apologize if you felt-"

"Don't say it like that!" Gustave sat up to face him. "You were worse than him, Father!"

Raoul took a moment to recover from the shock, his son rarely—perhaps never—shouted at him and he was even less used to the anger on the boy's face.

"I only told him to keep out of our grieving!" he defended himself, moving from the chair to the bed. "He was trying to upset you!"

"But it was  _ you _ who upset me, not him!" Gustave shrieked, hitting him repeatedly on the shoulder. "Just get out!"

Raoul grabbed the boy's wrists, struggling for several moments while he continued to try to hit him and Raoul attempted to calm him down.

"Gustave, stop!" he pleaded, "Cease this behavior, right now!"

The boy only struggled for a few more seconds before he seemed to lose all the strength he had and a new wave of tears spilled from his eyes.

Raoul gently pulled him into his arms, shushing him softly as he rubbed his back to soothe him.

"Okay, I'm sorry for ruining your birthday," Raoul muttered, his lips pressed against the boy's hair. "I should have left matters alone—I never should have invited him in the first place."

"Just stop, Father," Gustave sniffled as he pulled away from the embrace, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "I wanted you two to get along,  _ especially _ today."

"Let me make it up to you," Raoul said, a hesitant smile on his face.

Gustave gave him a doubtful look—the kind of look that could only be given by a child who was let down again and again by the adults in their life.

"Please, I am trying, my dear," his father said softly, gently brushing some hair away from the boy's forehead. "I'll do whatever I need to fix this for you."

After a brief consideration, Gustave nodded. "Will you make amends with Monsieur Y then?"

"Anything else," Raoul said, frowning. "I can do anything but that."

"Father," Gustave said, giving him a stern look that reminded Raoul so much of Philippe, it was hard to believe the boy wasn't related to him.

Raoul heaved a heavy sigh, examining the ceiling for a moment before looking back at the boy. "Okay, Gustave, I'll apologize." He stood. "Come down when you're ready, okay?"

Gustave nodded, turning his attention back to the framed picture on his bed.

Raoul slipped out of the room, quietly closing the door behind himself.

He took a deep breath to prepare himself, collected his thoughts, and started down the stairs.


	4. The Phantom's Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raoul goes looking for Erik, only to find that he is, in fact, still just as dramatic as he was in the 1880s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to andromedastars for betaing this and apologies to andromedastars for explaining eriks weird christine automaton  
> new chapters will (hopefully) be posted every other week  
> hope yall continue to enjoy this story <3

Erik was nowhere to be found downstairs.

Raoul pursed his lips, considering his options.

On the one hand, he could tell Gustave that Erik had left, and thus Raoul couldn't apologize, but then his son would say he wasn't actually making an effort.

On the other hand, he had to search Phantasma for a man whose hobby was lurking in shadows and quick disappearing tricks.

On the third, metaphorical hand, he could lie to Gustave and tell him Erik did not want to patch things up, though Raoul tried his hardest.

The last one appealed to some part of him, except that he couldn't possibly bear lying to his child like that.

He sighed, grabbing his hat and coat from the rack at the door.

"Gustave, I'm going out!" he shouted, waiting several moments for some kind of reply, then added, "I love you!"

He turned and walked out the door, closing and locking it behind himself.

Even after living on the grounds for six months, Raoul was not familiar with the layout of Phantasma.

He vaguely recognized some places, but others were new to him.

He did appreciate that with all the foot traffic no one seemed to recognize him, aside from several performers who'd stopped by the house during his stay—usually just to pick something up for their mysteriously absent boss, but a few would hang around to chat for which both de Chagnys were grateful.

Several had even become what might be counted as friends, given the odd circumstances surrounding their meetings.

He watched the man on stilts—Heinrich Lange, the son of German immigrants, Raoul recalled—stroll past effortlessly, an ever-present grin on his face as he waved to the children.

Raoul continued forward, a frown set in his lips and his eyebrows knit closely together—an expression that proved useful as no patron in the crowd tried to bother him and, in fact, rather avoided him.

"Is there a particular reason for your peculiar displeasure?"

He hadn't even realized Ms. Fleck was strolling along beside him until she spoke.

He stopped walking to turn to her, a single eyebrow raised. "I am looking for your employer."

She frowned. "I'm not sure that's wise, sir, perhaps you might find exploring Phantasma with your son a better use of your time."

"And why, pray tell, do you say that?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"I'm afraid Mr. Y was in quite a mood, last I saw him," she said, sighing.

Raoul rolled his eyes. "If you don't mind, Mademoiselle, might you just tell me where the man is?"

She glanced around like she was worried someone might listen in before leaning forward and lowering her voice. "If you  _ must _ know, he's locked himself in his office."

She pointed ahead. "Continue that way until you reach the dark tower with the crystalline skull near the top," she told him, pursing her lips. "It's locked to the public but Squelch should be on his weight lifting stage and he keeps the key."

"And I will be allowed to handle this key?" Raoul asked, following her gaze until he spotted the tower.

"No," she replied, "but Squelch will unlock it for you to allow you in."

"Thank you," he said, bowing his head slightly before continuing on his way.

Squelch had just stepped off the stage for a break when Raoul approached. 

"Hello, Viscount!" Squelch greeted him, smiling as he removed his gloves. "To what do I owe the immense pleasure of your visit?"

"If you would be so kind, sir, I need to be granted entrance to Monsieur Y's…" He glanced at the tower with distaste. "Lair."

Squelch pursed his lips. "Are you-"

"Yes, I am sure," Raoul interrupted him with no small amount of irritation. "Mademoiselle Fleck already attempted to talk me out of it, yet here I stand, asking  _ politely _ that you unlock the door."

Squelch rolled his eyes but started toward the tower nonetheless.

"You seem to be having a wonderful day here at Phantasma," Squelch said, his painted face giving the impression of a raised eyebrow though he delivered the statement in a completely deadpan manner.

Raoul laughed bitterly. "Oh, it's been a gay old time."

"And how is young Gustave?" Squelch asked, just as they were approaching the door of the tower.

"That is exactly what I will be speaking to your employer about," Raoul answered, gesturing for him to unlock the door.

Which he did, though he gave the Vicomte a look that asked if he was completely sure about what he was doing.

Which he was not, but he was not about to tell that to the weight lifting clown, nor anyone else for that matter.

"Thank you, Monsieur," Raoul said instead, inclining his head.

"Good luck," Squelch said as he closed the door behind the Vicomte. "You'll need it."

Raoul took in the room laid out before him.

If he were to be honest, he would say it looked like a tornado had torn through the space—papers were scattered all over the place, books lay open on whatever available surfaces there were, he even spotted a table that sat on its side as though tossed over in a fit of frustration or rage.

He carefully stepped around the papers on the floor, glancing over them. He saw at least five languages used in various papers—sometimes two or more on a single sheet—he saw plans for machines he couldn't begin to fathom the use for, if there even  _ was _ a use, and sheet music which seemed to mostly be rejected ideas as many were crumpled or torn.

Then he saw something that made him stop in his tracks.

He stared up at the large portrait of his late wife, her brown curls tumbling across her shoulder, her hands posed delicately in front of her, wearing her white dressing gown from the opera house.

It was the only thing in the room that hadn't been furiously tossed about, despite the other broken frames on the floor near it.

His heart ached looking at her beautiful face, as youthful and warm as that night in her dressing room when they met again after so long.

He tore his eyes away from the portrait, turning to look around the rest of the room instead.

A large case stood with the door partially ajar, which was something that piqued Raoul's interest (and allowed him to put off speaking to Erik, if just for a moment more).

Just as he reached for the door, a booming though somewhat distressed voice shouted, "Don't touch that!"

Raoul jumped back, twirling around to see exactly the man he had come to see but wanted desperately to avoid: Erik.


	5. Insults Are Hurled (And Also Fists)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raoul finds something disturbing, Erik really cannot explain himself, and there's some anger taken out in the form of violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to andromedastars for helping again!  
> from this chapter forward the language is PG-13, at least when not in the presence of the child  
> TW in this chapter for violence, blood, references to the sexbot

The masked man had already propelled himself most of the way down the spiral staircase—Raoul almost thought he would fling himself over the rail—and quickly moved to stand in front of the Vicomte.

"What are you doing here?" Erik snapped, though his gaze flickered from Raoul's face to the large case now behind him more than once.

"What, no hello?" Raoul asked dryly, raising an eyebrow at the man.

"Hello," Erik sneered, straightening up as though he might be trying to intimidate him with his height. "Now, what are you doing here?"

It was then that Raoul actually looked at Erik properly. His jacket was nowhere to be seen—leaving him in shirtsleeves, though they were rolled up to his elbows—and his vest wasn't even buttoned.

It was strange seeing him in such a state of undress.

Before Erik quickly rolled down his sleeves and buttoned the cuffs, Raoul managed to catch a glimpse of old marks around his wrists fitting to ropes having been tied tightly around them—likely more than once and for quite long periods.

"If you're done staring,  _ sir _ ," Erik spat, a grimace set into his face.

Raoul remembered what he'd come to the tower for in the first place.

"I don't like you, Erik," he said with a sigh, "I don't even want you anywhere near my son."

Erik's face showed nothing but distaste, like he smelled something rotten or he'd just sucked on a lemon. "Thank you for that, Monsieur le Vicomte, is that all?"

" _ However _ ," Raoul continued, much to the other man's displeasure. "Gustave needs a stable life and, unfortunately, he wants  _ you _ to be part of that—so I am here, sir, apologizing for his sake."

"That did not sound like an apology," he replied, raising his visible eyebrow. " _ Sir _ ."

Raoul paused, then nodded. "You're correct," he said with another sigh, "I apologize for everything I said and did, I know you were only trying to help."

"Thank you," he said, tucking his arms behind his back. "And I am sorry if I seemed out of line… I can admit that perhaps I should not have said anything, but I was not aiming to be cruel."

Raoul turned away from Erik, moving to lean against the wall. He noticed the look the masked man threw to the case beside him and the Vicomte barely managed to resist rolling his eyes.

"Alright, what could  _ possibly _ be so horrible-" Raoul had barely gotten the case open when Erik shouted for him to stop and he saw exactly what it was the man was trying to hide.

There was silence for a full second.

"What the hell, Erik?" he asked, staring in disgust at the lifesized perfect imitation of his late wife—her face looked disturbingly lifelike, the hair seemed like it would be soft to the touch, and she was dressed in a leather corset.

"Listen, I can explain," Erik said, reaching forward like he was going to close the case as though that might repair the damage that had already been done.

"What explanation could possibly make this better?!" he demanded, gesturing at the automaton.

Erik flinched, retracting his hand, but did not move. "I built her-  _ it _ years ago," he muttered, trying to plead with him. "I-I just missed-"

"What, fucking my wife once wasn't enough for you?!" Raoul shouted, grabbing the case and pulling it over so it crashed to the floor. "You made  _ that _ so you could keep doing it?!"

"You clearly lacked something in that department!" Erik snapped, his gaze flickering over the shards of glass and pieces of automaton now scattered across the floor before he glared at Raoul. "Gustave is  _ my _ son, not  _ yours _ !"

He looked down at the necklace laying at his feet—the necklace he had fastened around his Angel's neck just before her final performance, just before she chose him over her husband, just before she was snatched from him by the greedy hands of death.

Just as he started to kneel down to pick it up, Raoul suddenly tackled him to the floor.

With Raoul's furious words came assaults against the man underneath him. "If he's  _ your _ son, where were you during his first Christmas, first birthday party, first illness, his first word?!"

The left side of Erik's face almost looked like the right—blood trickled from his nose, his jaw and cheek were already showing the blacks and blues of bruises, and his eye was swollen nearly shut. His mask laid several feet away, having been sent clattering across the floor by Raoul's fist.

Raoul's breathing came in short, quick breaths as he grabbed the lapels of Erik's vest. "You are  _ not _ his fath-"

A sharp pain in his side cut off the biting sentence.

He fell to the side, landing next to Erik on the floor.

Erik turned his head very slightly to look at Raoul, slowly raising a large piece of glass in his hand.

Raoul clutched his side, blood seeping through his shirt and staining his fingers. " _ Bastard _ ."

Erik laughed weakly, letting his arm fall to his side. "I hate to point it out," he mumbled, "but you are the one who started it."

There was a tense pause where neither said a word, the only sound in the room being their combined heavy breathing.

"I tried to avoid your important organs," Erik said finally. "It'll just hurt like a bitch for a while."

"I hope your face stays ugly," Raoul replied, slowly sitting up, his hand still tightly clutching his wound. "Well, worse than usual."

"Have you calmed down now, Monsieur?" Erik asked, turning over to push himself up off the floor. "I can have Dr. Gangle dress your wound."

"I'm not letting a damn clown anywhere near my injury," Raoul said, narrowing his eyes at the other man.

Erik laughed, and it sounded genuine enough to actually catch Raoul off-guard. "Dr. Gangle is a trained medical professional—hence the reason for his title."

"He went to school to become a doctor," Raoul said slowly, "and now he's a clown?"

"Now, that is simply not my story to tell," Erik said, straightening out the bloodied collar of his shirt as he moved over to a phone.

The conversation was very short, barely three sentences, and the receiver was replaced on the cradle.

There was a long moment of silence.

Erik kneeled down to pick up his mask, tsking when he examined it. "Damn, you hit hard, Vicomte."

Raoul raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you have others, Monsieur."

Erik stood. "I can stab you again, if that might serve to help your attitude toward me."

Raoul rolled his eyes, grimacing as he adjusted his hand against his side. "When is the clown doctor meant to arrive?"

"Shortly," Erik answered, tossing his cracked mask to the floor with the broken glass and automaton pieces. "Victoria has to locate him first."

"So we are alone together for an unknown amount of time?" Raoul asked, curling his lip in disgust. "Grand."

"Unless you plan to strike again," Erik said, standing a chair up to be properly upright on its legs. "I suggest you just take a seat."

Raoul studied him suspiciously before slowly walking over, carefully sitting down with a small wince.

Erik grabbed another chair and sat on it, just far enough away that Raoul could not reach him.

They were both silent for a moment until Raoul spoke up, "Does his degree say 'Dr. Gangle'?"

The laugh which bubbled out of Erik sounded more like a cackle than a chuckle.

The noise made Raoul laugh a bit, though he quickly regretted it as sharp pain rippled from his side.

"I will not give out his name," Erik answered after sobering. "However, I can tell you that it most certainly does not refer to him as Gangle."

He chuckled again, gently touching his swollen cheek. "Ah, that hurts."

"You think  _ that's _ bad?" Raoul asked, though the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. "I'm bleeding out!"

They both chuckled and Erik shook his head.

"Which do you prefer," Erik started, earning a raised eyebrow from the Vicomte. "Noose or shard of glass?"

Raoul laughed loudly before doubling over in pain. "Damn it, Erik," he said, clutching his side tightly, "I think the shock is setting in, otherwise you wouldn't be funny."

Erik frowned, glancing around.

He stood suddenly, earning a confused mumble from Raoul, but he quickly disappeared up the spiral staircase.

He returned a moment later with his long coat and carefully draped it over Raoul.

"What's this for?" he asked suspiciously.

"Just in case," Erik answered, sitting back in his own chair. "You're meant to stay warm and comfortable if you're actually in shock, and I didn't figure you'd mind if you weren't."

Raoul glanced down at the coat then at Erik. "But now I'm bleeding on it."

"Oh, you're definitely in shock," Erik said with a matter-of-fact nod. "You wouldn't care about that usually."

Raoul rolled his eyes but didn't retort.

They waited in silence for Dr. Gangle to arrive, neither saying a word nor even making eye contact with each other.


	6. Doctors and Creeps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the battle.  
> Dr. Gangle is a mom friend who just wants the boys to behave and not stab people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again to andromedastars for reading and adjusting <3
> 
> TW in this chapter for injuries and scars

The lock clicked and the door slowly opened.

Dr. Gangle stepped inside cautiously, eyebrows furrowed at the state of the room.

"Ah, Doctor," Erik greeted him, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he gestured to Raoul, "If you would be so kind as to patch up the tantrum throwing toddler."

"What have you two fools been doing?!" Dr. Gangle demanded, though his harsh tone did not match the gentle manner with which he removed Erik's coat from Raoul. "There's glass everywhere, papers, books, and‐ Mr. Y, have you  _ stabbed _ the Viscount?!"

"Only a little," Erik said, watching Dr. Gangle examine the wound while Raoul clenched his jaw, looking anywhere but the bloody cut.

"I expect he is the one who helped make you so handsome, then?" Dr. Gangle asked, carefully removing Raoul's coat, then his jacket, then his vest, and finally peeled away his shirt. "Goodness, man, how large was the knife?"

"It wasn't a knife," Raoul said, "Your boss stabbed me with a piece of glass."

"Jagged edges!" Dr. Gangle exclaimed, shooting Erik a look of disappointment. "Why, that's even worse!"

Dr. Gangle continued to lecture the other two men the entire time he very gently dressed Raoul's wound.

He told them they were adults who could handle things civilly, that it was irresponsible to start a physical altercation, that it was even more irresponsible to do so when glass shards were littered across the floor, and even more points that Raoul and Erik both tuned out.

Dr. Gangle ended his scolding just as he finished the wound dressing. "You'll be just fine, but take it easy a couple of days."

He moved to Erik, raising an eyebrow as he cleaned the blood from his face—though Erik protested he could do it himself, a protest which Dr. Gangle ignored.

"I can put a salve on it, sir, but you'll look rather like you lost the fight for a while yet," he said, reaching into his kit for a jar. "What did you say to the Viscount to earn this warm reply?"

"He started it," Erik said immediately, and Raoul almost laughed at the childishness of the statement echoed from mere minutes ago.

Dr. Gangle rolled his eyes as he applied the salve. "I'm sure he did, sir."

He finished and replaced the jar in his kit. "No lasting damage to either of you," he told them as he stood, then addressed Raoul specifically. "I'll be coming by the house every day to check and redress your injury—more often, if need be."

Raoul frowned. "Dr. Gangle, if I might make a small request…" The doctor gestured for him to continue. "I don't want Gustave to know."

Erik couldn't hide the surprise and confusion that made themselves quite at home on his face.

"I can be discreet, if that's what you wish," Dr. Gangle said, nodding.

Raoul sighed with relief. "Thank you."

Dr. Gangle gave a flourishing bow before making his exit.

Erik was curious as to Raoul's reason for his odd request, but rather than ask in any way which might not be construed as rude, he decided to be sure his voice dripped with mockery as he asked, "Does it hurt your pride to admit you've been beaten in a fight?"

Raoul scoffed, then winced. "That's hardly the reason," he answered, rolling his eyes as though the movement might hide his previous action. "Believe it or not, Gustave—for some reason which I certainly do not know—thinks you might be a kind man and I'm afraid I cannot bring myself to shatter his fantasy with the harsh reality of who you are."

Whatever biting remark Erik might have prepared died in his throat and he found himself unable to meet Raoul's eyes, staring at the floor instead. "Ah, I see, his father is already a horrid monster without learning the truth of his past."

Raoul stared at the unmasked Phantom, gaze flicking from the bruised side to the deformed side. "While that is entirely true, he does not seem to mind your face."

"But that does not make it less horrid," Erik said, and Raoul couldn't really disagree—after all, he was right.

There was only silence for a short moment before Erik asked, "Are you feeling up to the long trek back to the house?"

"Anything to get out of this tower," Raoul replied, buttoning his shirt back up.

He winced as he slipped the vest on, and again with the jacket. He held up his coat, examining the large blood stain and the tear in the side. "Well, damn, looks like I won't be able to hide this from Gustave."

"Wear mine," Erik said immediately, standing and holding his coat in his hands. "I've a change of clothes upstairs, so you've more of a need for it than I."

Raoul arched an eyebrow, carefully standing from his chair. He took a step toward Erik and looked up at him.

"Point taken," he said, then he gently put the coat on his shoulders. "The wound is covered." He glanced up and down at Raoul. The long coat nearly seemed to envelop the six foot tall man. "As is everything else."

Raoul rolled his eyes, but rather than throw it off as Erik expected him to do, he actually pulled it tighter around himself.

"If you will wait here a moment," Erik said, starting up the spiral staircase.

Raoul knew he shouldn't pry, but as soon as the man disappeared, he slowly crept up the stairs behind him.

He only climbed high enough to see into the room above.

Erik had his back to the staircase.

He slipped off his shirt and Raoul had to stifle a gasp. His jaundiced skin was stretched tight across his bones, giving him the impression of a living skeleton. Burns, cuts, and lashes from whips decorated his back. Raoul noticed several small but new cuts which must have been from wrestling on the glass littered floor.

It barely took three seconds for Erik to pull a fresh shirt on but the image of his tortured skin was imprinted into Raoul's mind.

Erik straightened up as he buttoned his shirt and Raoul hurried back down the stairs.

He settled back into the chair, Erik's coat pulled tightly around himself, and a few moments later Erik joined him downstairs with a new vest and jacket on top of the clean shirt. The new mask fitted over his face hid everything but his eyes.

"Ready to go?" he asked, offering his elbow as Raoul stood.

The Vicomte scoffed. "I do not need your arm, thank you,  _ sir _ ."

Erik hummed in response, tucking his arm behind his back instead. "As you wish." He strolled over to the door and opened it. "After you, Monsieur le Vicomte."


	7. Teatime Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raoul makes an attempt to be a dad, Erik makes an attempt to be a considerate person, and Gustave makes an attempt to get some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to andromedastars as always for reading and correcting <3

Dr. Gangle kept his promise of being discreet. He came by every day to clean and redress Raoul's abdomen but Gustave was none the wiser. The doctor would play a game or have a short debate with him when he asked before making an excuse to see his patient.

"You're healing well," Dr. Gangle said, examining his week-old wound.

Raoul groaned. "I'd believe that if it didn't hurt so damn much."

Dr. Gangle chuckled, grabbing the roll of bandages to begin gently wrapping the injury. "Have you seen much of Mr. Y?"

"He came by a few days ago to be sure Gustave and I had everything we needed," Raoul answered, rolling his shoulder as he kept his arm above his head so it wouldn't be in the way of Dr. Gangle's work. "Beyond that, not really."

Dr. Gangle nodded, humming. "Are you avoiding him or is it the other way around?"

"Neither," he replied, then he paused, "Or perhaps both—we don't really seek each other out."

"He is a recluse, Viscount," Dr. Gangle said, securing the bandage. "He needs the outside world to look in on him sometimes."

He frowned as he let his arm fall to his side, considering the man's words. "Are you concerned about him?"

"Oh, sir, I'd never be so bold as to assume what is and isn't concerning behavior from Mr. Y," he replied, collecting his things into his kit. "Still, perhaps you two can get over this animosity now."

"What, after he stabbed me?" Raoul asked, pulling his shirt on over his newly bandaged torso.

"I'd say more  _ because _ he stabbed you." Dr. Gangle started toward the door. "At this point, you need to let it go before one of you goes too far."

The clown gave him a pointed look then inclined his head and left the room.

Raoul sighed as he buttoned up his shirt, slowly standing from his bed.

He made his way downstairs, clenching his jaw as he did, his side aching from the redressed injury.

He found his son laying on the couch in the parlor. He had already finished one of his novels, and had started on the second.

"Room for me?" Raoul asked softly, and he was sure his smile looked more like a grimace.

Gustave wordlessly adjusted position, curling up on one side of the couch.

Raoul sat at his feet, examining the wallpaper as the two sat in silence.

Finally, he looked over at his son. "Is it any good?"

"Yes," Gustave replied, eyes never moving away from the words on the page. "I'm enjoying it."

"Would you…" Raoul hesitated, chewing the inside of his cheek. "Would you read it to me?"

Gustave looked up then, staring at him. He always read with his mother, but his father hadn't shown much interest in anything he did in recent years, much less the books he read.

"Nevermind," Raoul said quickly, "Foolish suggestion, forget I said anything."

"Do you really want me to read?" Gustave asked quietly, shifting closer.

"If you're willing," he replied, holding his arm out in an offer.

Gustave tucked himself against his father's side and began to read.

He stopped several times to explain important characters or plot points Raoul had missed earlier in the book, and the man listened intently to every word he said, asking questions when he didn't understand or making comments about the story.

They had been reading and chatting for more than an hour when Gustave suddenly stopped in the middle of a paragraph to instead exclaim, "Hello, Monsieur Y!"

Raoul looked up at the man in the doorway. "How long have you been lurking there?"

"Ah, I apologize, I did not mean to intrude," he said softly, the hint of what might have been a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I was merely stopping by to see if you required something, Dr. Gangle said I should come see you."

Raoul had to resist rolling his eyes. "He said the same to me."

"Merely the doctor attempting to…" he glanced at Gustave, considering his words, "repair our relationship then?"

"I think he's done a very good thing!" Gustave spoke up, "You've been avoiding each other since Papa went to find you last week, Monsieur Y."

Erik hadn't thought he'd noticed—the masked man wasn't around more than before, but he also wasn't spending  _ less _ time at the house. He'd assumed that Gustave had accepted that he and Raoul were willing to be civil for his sake, but would not be friends.

"I've quite enjoyed the story," Erik said, approaching to stand at the center of the room. "Is that one that—" his gaze flickered to Raoul, "— _ Papa _ bought for you?"

"Yes!" he replied happily, holding up the book to show the cover. "You should come join us!"

Erik frowned, his fingers tapping against his leg. "I'm not sure I can stay, I'm afraid… Things to do, people to speak to…"

"Please?" Gustave asked, his eyes pleading. "Just for a little while?"

"Am I…" He looked at Raoul, visibly unsure of himself, an odd look on the usually cold and composed man. "Welcome?"

Raoul held his stare for a moment before gesturing to an empty armchair.

Erik took off his coat, sitting without another word and Gustave started reading from where he left off—only interrupting himself briefly to tell Erik he could ask questions, if he did not know what had already happened in the story.

Another two hours passed.

At around teatime, a servant stepped in to deliver a tray of tea, along with an assortment of treats.

The servants of the household only stepped in long enough to serve food or clean the house. Raoul appreciated not having strangers in the house all the time while also enjoying the more comfortable life he was used to.

Gustave folded and creased the top corner of the page to mark his place and closed the book, setting it aside.

"I used to hate when she did that," Raoul said softly, earning confused looks from both of the others. "Christine—" It was the first time he'd said her name in the months since she'd died, and he noticed the way Erik flinched. "—always creased pages, but I never liked damaging books."

"Maman would do it when we read together," Gustave said, his tone sad but a smile on his face. "I guess I picked it up from her."

"You're so much like her," Raoul told him, gently stroking his cheek.

Erik stood suddenly. "I feel I am invading a family moment," he said, grabbing his coat. "I will go."

"Don't!" Gustave said quickly, "You- you  _ are _ family, you don't have to leave."

Erik looked from Gustave to Raoul and back again, his fingers tapping anxiously against his own arm. "I'm not… good at the—" he gestured vaguely, "— _ family _ thing."

"Tell me about Maman," he said, staring up at him, "I mean, how she was when you knew her."

Erik slowly draped his coat on the back of the armchair but did not sit down. "She was beautiful, graceful—but I fell in love with her voice, rather than her face… Oh, the way that she sang…" He placed a hand over his heart, staring off at something in the distance only he could see. "When she sang, I was complete."

"Is that why you lured her here?" Gustave asked before immediately clamping a hand over his mouth with a gasp. "I-I'm sorry, that was- that was out of line."

Erik met Raoul's gaze. The Vicomte looked more sad than angry, frowning as he stared straight back at the so-called phantom in front of him.

Erik looked at Gustave. "Yes," he answered quietly, "I had to hear her again, no matter how selfish that seems."

"We should have left that first night," Raoul spoke up, his voice wavering.

"Why didn't we?" Gustave asked, like he'd been thinking of that question for a long time, just waiting for an opportunity to ask. "Maman said we could go, she didn't even care about the money."

Erik blinked, looking shocked. "She wanted to leave?"

"Then you showed up," Gustave said, pulling his knees up to his chest.

Raoul laughed—a sad and hollow sound. "I should've guessed it was your fault that she was suddenly so eager to stay."

"I-I didn't… I'm…" Erik trailed off, swaying slightly where he stood.

Gustave frowned, eyebrows knitting together. "Monsieur Y?"

Raoul leapt from his seat just as Erik toppled over, barely managing to catch him before he landed on the glass table. "Gustave, run as fast as you can, find Dr. Gangle!"

Gustave was frozen in his seat, staring at Erik. "Father, why is there blood…?"

Raoul realized then that he was bleeding through his shirt. The movement of catching the other man must have reopened the wound in his side. " _ Damn _ ! Gustave, tell Dr. Gangle it's an emergency, go  _ now _ !"

Gustave got up quickly, hurrying to the door and barely pausing to slip on shoes before he ran out of the house.

"Damn it, Erik," Raoul muttered, adjusting his arms so one was tucked under the taller man's legs and one cradled his back, straining as he picked him up. "What the hell have you done now?"


End file.
